Burden of Truthful Lies
by makoto4ever
Summary: To be made and unmade took eons or perhaps mere seconds. What will become of one who has seen truth? Are there enough pieces of what once was to be put together anew, or is this Monster to remain ever a creature of undoing? Loki must fight through the darkness for truth, shrouded in lies and betrayal.


"I could have done it, Father! I could have done it! For you! For all of us!"

There are perhaps a sparse handful of moments in the life of any given mortal where things come down to a choice between two destinies. For some, perhaps it is that moment before deciding to take that bullet for the man beside you or live to fight another day… on a happier note perhaps it is merely the choice between love and a career but both lead down a happy path to prosperity. Yet to a god… what such choices would exist? Far too many paths split before one who would outlive a thousand lives and more. The strands of the infinite tapestry which lay before any immortal were perhaps never more complicated than for the Master of Words himself.

As he looked up through the haze of the Bifrost's light, casting his irises with a glow worthy of a thousand moonlit seas, he knew this to be one of those moments… Here he would find salvation or damnation that could break the golden threads of the Norns themselves. And as he plead with his eyes for the only words the Master wished to ever befall his ears, the cosmos seemed to pause and take note:

"No Loki."

And a thousand possible fates for the second non-son withered like so many dead roses, blackened with a single word.

And he fell…

Yggdrasil wept, for never had such fantastic destiny been lost, nor such wretched purpose been gained. The young, once-Odinson was lost to the realm eternal, sucked into nothingness. Here, there was only dark, no light to bring back happy memories, no warmth to stir the soul. Every painful scar inside him was given reign over Loki, and he bowed beneath their pressure.

Moments,… so many moments… centuries upon centuries of human history had passed - no soul remembering by itself beyond one century, no soul recording accurately beyond a few, and yet here he floated, older than any earthly civilization, utterly alone in the pain of ten thousand sunsets. Had anyone ever experienced such desolation? Such emptiness?

"No Loki…"

For what in this emptiness would be equivalent to any as a thousand years, he lay with only the pain within him to clutch close to his heart. This was his only anchor to existence itself, his only saving grace. And the two words that cast him here took the shape of the Allfather's voice and began to twist him, chain him, like barbed black snakes. And green eyes faded, pupils dilating for any ounce of light, a thing which soon, he forgot. It had never existed. No warmth or joy, no pride or success, no love or embrace had touched him. It could not have. For if it ever had been… would it not be here for him now? There was naught but darkness, which he welcomed like a cloak, and in that darkness he took his solace. It was okay to feel this pain, for it was the only thing there for him.

"No Loki…" that voice whispered over and over, speaking all his fears and pains until all was lost to him.

It haunted the eternal hole in which he only half existed until he found his body (which he had until now forgotten, almost believing he had died and left it behind) come into contact with something wholly… alive… buzzing… swaying, growing, birthing, dying, living, breathing, withering, dancing! Falling! Swirling and careening, like the branches of a tree caught in a monstrous hurricane while all at once sighing in the gentle breeze of a freshly born spring! This was Yggdrasil… here in what he had thought would be an unending night wrought with inescapable hopelessness. The Tree from which spawned every stretch of life and cradled the entire universe like a mother.

This being; that which could be deigned One with all existence, should not be witnessed by any soul that has not been reclaimed by her. For even those of the realm of Niflheim and Valhalla had never seen her. She held the knowledge of all that was, had been, or ever would be… and it was too much for any soul to take in. Yet here came to rest the lost son of no one.

It jarred him, and a scream ripped through him as he was born and died a million times over, seeing life in all its aspects, in all its glory and detriment. He was the father, the mother, the son, the ant, the wind… He screamed as he died by fire, by age, by disease, by sword and axe and ice… Cried as he was born to a king, a servant, a prostitute, a monster… In her arms he saw the truth of all things, saw worlds no one had ever dreamed of, lived lifetimes and eternities and fractions of seconds, loved and hated, and it was all too much to bare. He came to know what it was to be unmade and reshaped; to lose all control; to be everything and nothing at all. He saw all of it…. And briefly he glimpsed his own fates, the prophecies and their alternatives… He screamed as she held him gently and violently, until he was near to breaking… perhaps beyond it…

And then his eyes shot open, startlingly alive and REAL. He gasped for breath as he found himself no longer in nothing or in Her arms, but being manhandled by creatures smelling of decay and oil, their nails biting skin that took far too long to recall was his own. They found him floating as if dead at the edges of what was, and brought him to their leader, pulling at his hair and flesh, eager to devour what was left of the wayward soul if permitted.

Yet in those seagreen eyes which were devoid of light - pupils no longer seeking it and drawn tight to the size of pinheads to reveal all the more lovely iris - the Other saw unmasked potential for beautiful destruction. He brought him before the Unmaker, who turned slowly to the gift presented to him, and slowly, the beast smiled, "Death, will be most pleased…"

The massive creature who stunk of death, reaked of charred flesh and crusty blood dipped down to the quaking form of one who smelled of Asgard... and better yet, magic. One such as he, visibly lost in more ways than one, would be the key to his long awaited return. There was something that had been rekindled across the realms on the distant world of Midgard. Something the poor ant-like mortals could not hope to control or understand was calling out. He knew its power, forged to mimic the tree of life herself, the tesseract was a power he desired second to courting Death.

To Loki, it had been eons of icey alone-ness and further eons of lives and deaths as a part of Her, and now he lay barren and smashed to pieces of what he once was before a power even She had warned him of. So when the Giant of a creature dug his gaze into his soul, he knew there would be no escape, and eons would come slow once more, in wretchedness. Lifting a long silver scepter, swirling with a blue energy reminiscent of She who had held him in her boughs, the Unmaker; Destroyer of Worlds, pierced him through his broken heart. The dark realm burst with a terrible scream so pure it may have drawn a tear from death itself, and in its wake, knelt a shaking servant, staring into dangerous eyes.

"Will you see my plans to the end? Will you deliver to me that which I desire?"

"I will do this, for you… for all of us…" came a ragged whisper.

"Yesssss, Loki."

Fate was sealed. Slowly did Loki stand on trembling legs, burdened with glorious purpose, as truth was warped and the good in his heart ripped asunder.

A true monster was born and delivered into the arms of the Chitauri.

* * *

Author's Note:

This is sort of a prelude to the true story, which for the main part takes place after the Avengers. But just as Thor conveniently fails to mention what created this terrible version of Loki to his Midgardian companions and allows them to believe he is a creature of entirely evil intent, I wish to show this as a possible explanation of sorts. Apart from the many Loki fans, I have found some who call Loki a murderer who deserves to die (I.E. people who didn't bother to watch Thor AND/OR the deleted scenes Before seeing the Avengers). Although I won't go into all the ethics and blah blah blah, I'd like to chime in that Loki outlives humans by hundreds of generations, and if a human, in that time frame, can go bat shit crazy from pain and trauma, what can that do to one who lives infinitely? So yeah, I have feels for the man and am happy Marvel actually gave him a good story, like Magneto, and Not like scarecrow, which the Batman Begins movie fails miserably to replicate - read into that character and suddenly you're like holy crap no wonder he went on the crazy train. Yes, I have a thing for tragic characters, the darkness inside them, and hope for something better in their futures. Let's hear a cheer for our favorite God with the bag full of cats for a brain!

PS it is yet to be determined which ship this will be sailing, but there will likely be all kinds of painful relationships popping up here and of course smex scenes, which will be forewarned. But suffice it to say that when I mark a story M, I mean it. I don't skirt around darkness when the characters themselves are dark. Thanks for hanging in with me and yaoi lovers will probably leave this fic happy. Hints: probably either Iron Giant, Green Frost, or Capsicle... not sure yet, I'll leave it to some helpful reviewers.


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